


After the Fall

by Mouse9



Series: Tales from Baker Street [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Being brothers, Gen, Post Season 2, the holmes brothers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: Another prompt fic " Do you feel guilty, at all?  I don’t have time to feel guilty and neither do you."Before Sherlock leaves for parts unknown looking for the remainder of Moriarty's web, the brothers have a brief few moments to themselves.





	After the Fall

The commotion on the street was almost comical. Sherlock was reminded of when he was a child dropping marmalade onto the ground and watching the ants appear lured by the siren’s call of the sweet until the once orange blob was covered in black. 

The people below, cleaning up the red stains, the officers speaking to onlookers, television and newspapers all trying to get the one good picture or the one good quote that would sell their wares.

He could already anticipate it: **_Disgraced lying “Detective” jumps to his death_**_. _

Sherlock sat in the safehouse watching the several news stations reporting on his death, as he dressed for his impending trip.

Each of the screens told a different sensational version of the supposed “tragedy” with one news station camped out at Baker Street.

“Get rid of them.” Sherlock said as Mycroft stepped into the room, a rucksack in his hand.

“Already taken care of.”

Zipping up the hoodie, he took the rucksack from the outstretched hand.

“It isn’t much but the supplies in there will be enough to get you started,” Mycroft watched his brother finish dressing, tugging the laces of the boots he now wore.

“Any idea where you’ll start?  
“Thought, I’d start in Cyprus. That was the first cell I fund aligned with him. “

“Don’t tell me anymore.” He grinned, teeth showing. “Plausible deniability.”

Sherlock’s response was an eye roll.

The telly caught his attention and he looked up in time to see men in uniforms breaking up the broadcast and hordes of paparazzi from around Baker Street.

“Thank you.”

His response was a nod of Mycroft’s head.

“You’ll keep an eye on them?”

“As I’ve said.”

“Make sure they’re safe?”

With a long put-upon sigh, Mycroft nodded. “I told you I would.”

“Make sure Molly keeps her job, with no repercussions.”

“Of course there will be an inquest, but Miss Hooper will be reinstated, her record expunged of any misdoing.”

“And John.”

“Sherlock,” Gone was the voice of the British Government in its place, the exasperated tone of an annoyed older brother. Sherlock retaliated in kind, the long unfurling a long-buried impulse to drag his feet.

“You swore.”

“And I shall keep it. Your window is closing rapidly.”

“Very well.”

Standing, he looked towards the television, silently watching the proceedings.

On one screen was a clip of he and John leaving Baker Street with the caption underneath: **Sherlock Holmes Dead: Guilt-ridden suicide or easy way out?**

Mycroft stood beside him, both men watching the screen silently.

“Do you feel guilty?” Sherlock asked breaking the silence. “At all? About this ruse?”

Mycroft was silent a moment more before the turned away from the screens. 

“I don’t have time to feel guilty,” He looked to his brother, looking much smaller now without his greatcoat. “And neither do you.”

Sherlock turned and Mycroft saw the brief flash of the little boy he once was. 

Then it was gone.

“Quite right,” he said, turning away from the screen and heading towards the door.

“Time to go.”

“Sherlock.”

He couldn’t stop himself. Mercurial eyes turned back to focus on him.

“Keep in touch.”

A playful grin flashed across Sherlock’s face.

“Laters.”

And then he was gone.

Mycroft stared at the door for a long time.

He didn’t have time for guilt, if he did, it would have overwhelmed him long ago.

Best to leave it here, along with everything else, buried in the past. 

Well, almost everything.

His mobile buzzed informing him of his car’s arrival.

Picking up to travel bag containing the Belstaff, the final sentimental act for his brother, Mycroft left the safehouse.


End file.
